


He's Electric

by Fruitloopy



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Police, Jimmy is a showboy, M/M, This is Maigret inspired, as i'm mainly here for the relationships!, but only borrows parts rather than whole plots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruitloopy/pseuds/Fruitloopy
Summary: Alastair's a detective, a good one. He likes his partner Joe and the rest of the squad and he's seeing someone, it's not serious, he'd like it to be, he's working on it.It's just difficult when you have feelings for a drunk, sulky, foul mouthed dancer who can't decide if he wants to be caught or not.Jimmy likes Alastair, really likes him, it's just his life is complicated, mainly because he works for a -, spends most of his time drunk and hangs about on the seedier side of the city, plus, oh yeah that past he has been trying to run from. Still he has his friends, he just needs to sort a couple of things out.Things are about to get simpler and more complicated for Jimmy and Alastair.





	He's Electric

Alastair sat in his superior’s office, a cloud of pipe smoke curling through the air. They were just talking, whiling away the night shift, waiting.

Waiting for the telephone to ring, its shrill tinny sound to break the quiet of the half empty office, for the inevitable to happen, a poor lost soul to lay broken somewhere, the life draining from them.

A commotion broke outside the door, and Joe could be heard arguing with a voice that seemed familiar, at the same time the telephone rang. Detective Inspector Strauss opened the door to help Joe with the stranger while Alastair took the call from switchboard. After that, the quiet night seemed a distant memory and it wasn’t until three in the morning that he bumped into Joe again.

He was pouring himself a coffee from the pot kept on the electric ring as Joe was taking off his hat when he remembered the argument earlier.

“What was the argument about?”

Joe looked confused at first, then it was like a light had flickered on, his face smoothed out and he grinned, “Some drunken rent boy, said he’d overheard someone planning to kill a rich old woman, but didn’t actually know any details.” Joe slumped into a chair. “then got all huffy, claimed we were laughing at him, fell asleep in the waiting area and it appears he then flounced off into the night.” Joe made the finger twirl sign and whistled.

Alastair smiled at him, he liked Joe, of course he could be a little blunt but he tried his hardest and genuinely seemed to enjoy the job, even if it meant dealing with the lost souls that society seemed to want to forget about.  
“So did any rich old women turn up dead?” Ali took a sip of his coffee and settled back against the desk, contemplating taking his hat off.

“Sure, loads I would assume, after all they’re old, but we’ve had no calls come in saying that they’ve found anyone.” Joe squeezed his eyes shut and let out an enormous yawn. “The chief told me to tell you, that you can go home. Type up your stuff tomorrow, I mean today… well you know what I mean.”

Alastair did, he threw back his cup and drained the rest of the coffee. “Sounds like a good idea.” he wandered back to his desk to pick up a bottle of tablets for the headache he was developing and waved farewell to Joe. “See you in a few hours.” Joe waved merrily back while putting on his coat.

***

Jimmy was drunk, not rolling, he could stand, he could sing along to the tune the piano was currently playing and he could certainly remove the items of clothing he was paid to remove without any fuss, but there was a buzzing in his brain.

The cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, the warm glow from various candles and a few strategically placed wall lights made the basement club dark, intimate and as it was supposed to more or less anonymous.

He could make out shapes of people, as he moved about the front few tables, singing in a low voice, he doubted anyone could hear him to be honest but he needed something to do while he removed his shirt and trousers, swaying to the music.

There were some whistles and wandering hands, which told him he was doing his job and he thanked his lucky stars it wasn’t drag night, he was definitely too drunk to be doing this in heels.

He passed the last booth on the way back to the main stage (ha, what a joke, it was just a slightly raised area, but Michael insisted on calling it a stage) when a cold chill ran through him, he recognised that face, that smug grin told him that he hadn’t been able to stifle his surprise. He walked back to the stage and finished his set, he forgot to sing, never mind, no one came here for his voice.  
Jimmy more or less ran from the stage the moment the music stopped. He rummaged through his dressing table to find the bottle and poured some of the amber liquid into a glass, gulping it down. Looking at his face in the mirror, his skin was pale in the harsh light, a couple of the other boys looked at him worriedly but he couldn’t care. That face, the face from a past he really wished he could forget.

Mark wandered over with the pretence of borrowing some blush and said in a low voice “Clarke’s on his way, maybe have some water?” Jimmy stared at him in the mirror and gave the approximation of a smile. “He’s the reason I drink, he can put up with it.” he laughed harsh and flat and Mark squeezed his arm gently.

***

Clarke walked through the heavy red curtain and into the dressing room it stank of smoke and cologne with an underlay of sweat. He watched Jimmy for a few seconds, the man was a gorgeous mess, he’d dragged his hands through his hair so it was no longer in place, his lips was red and swollen, some of his mascara had smudged from where he was running his hands over his face, in fact, he reminded Clarke of the first time they’d fucked.

Clarke stood behind Jimmy, and Jimmy stared at him in the mirror, eyes unfocused and watery, he was drunk, more drunk than usual and clearing stuff into a bag.  
“I have to go.” Jimmy slurred at him but hadn’t moved to stand up. Clarke saw his chance to pounce. Grabbing Jimmy’s throat with his left hand he brought his lips to the dancer’s ear and growled “don’t forget who you work for.” the tremors ran through Jimmy, mostly from drink and the fact he still wasn’t dressed properly. “you owe me, remember that sweetheart, remember who took you in when you had nowhere else.” His right hand grabbed Jimmy’s crotch, hard. “you belong here.”

Jimmy’s eyes were wide and his smelt strongly of sweat, from the terror seeping out. He squeaked and almost collapsed forward when Clarke let go, reaching for the bottle again, make up and tissues tumbling to the floor. “I really have to go.” he pushed up, and shakily pulled on the pair of jeans that Michael had bought him from Galeries Lafayette in a fit of generosity.

 

“You haven’t done your second set!” Clarke was angry now, angry and confused.

“Not tonight, I have to-” Jimmy looked about him helplessly, pulling on his coat and grabbing a tatty looking satchel. “- to, to go somewhere. I’m sorry Michael.” and with that he stumbled quickly out of the dressing room and into the storeroom and the back stairs.

***

The cool night air hit Jimmy in the face instantly making him more inebriated, the cobbled busy streets of Montmartre bustled by him, loudly. Everyone out for the night, for a good time. A good time away from their wives and husbands most of the time.

Sleazy men stood about on street corners, hats pulled low over there eyes, offering passers by postcards from the clubs, some of those postcards had Jimmy on them, most of them ended up on the floor, no one stupid enough or drunk enough to actually keep them, but he knew that Michael used him as the selling point. He looked down and saw his own face staring back at him from the floor, crumpled and damp from the dirt on the street. It occurred to him that he probably looked like that now and he pulled the oversized coat about him and looked around, he saw a tall figure watching him from the dark of a doorway and suddenly the urge to run, rushed through him at an alarming rate. His blood cold, his skin pricking with sweat he just ran, in no particular direction, taking alley’s and stairs as they came, tripping over his feet as he looked behind him to see if the figure had followed him. He slipped on the wet cobbles as he turned a sharp corner and ran into a figure.

He felt damp itchy wool on his face, his hand pressed against cold sliver buttons and he looked up into a kind, concerned face of a Gardien de la Paix, “You okay pet?”

Jimmy blinked a couple of times, was he okay? He looked wildly around for a moment when the large hand on his arm squeezed and took hold of him properly planting him on his feet.

“I asked if you were okay?”  
“Yes! Yes I’m okay” and the officer looked ready to walk off when a lightbulb went off “Actually Monsieur I need a Poste de Police, I need to report a crime.”

“Really?” the officer looked a little skeptical, but Jimmy went for broke.

“Yes, I over heard a man and now he is following me, please Monsieur, please take me to the nearest station?”

At that the officer raised an eyebrow, he looked Jimmy up and down and then sighed. “Fine, take my arm. I’ll walk you part of the way.” Jimmy could have cried.

***

The warmth of La Préfecture of Police felt stifling the moment he walked through the doors. It smelt musty and faintly of ink as he stood in the foyer for a minute, until a voice registered.

“Excuse me, can I help you.”

Jimmy turned and came face to face with a child in a suit. Well maybe not a child, he was the same height as Jimmy, but his face. Jimmy didn’t know whether he wanted to slap it or pinch it.

“Sorry, are you looking for someone?”

“I want to report a crime.” Jimmy blurted out and the young person stepped back and wrinkled his nose a little.

“Okay, if you’d like to follow me and I can take some details.”

Jimmy wasn’t following anyone, Jimmy knew how this worked, what happened to people like him in these kinds of places. He stood up straight and threw his chin into the air. “I want to report a crime and I’m going to tell you here!” he pointed to the floor and they both looked at that exacted spot.

“Okay, well I’m Detective Root and if you come with me I can take down the details. You can have a seat and a coffee?” the detective raised his eyebrows at Jimmy and smiled a little.  
Jimmy realised this was good cop and down that hall might be bad cop, but outside possibly stood something even worse. What should he do?  
“I’m not going anywhere! I want to tell you here! Here!” He was sounding hysterical even to his own ears but he couldn’t stop, between the drink and his nerves it was all just pouring out.

He could here Detective Root telling him to calm down, he really was trying but he couldn’t. Suddenly the door to his right opened and a stocky figure stepped out a phone ringing behind him.

“What’s going on Detective?” Jimmy whipped round to face the new person, he looked to be someone in authority and the young detective had called him sir, so before Detective Root could explain Jimmy jumped straight in, ‘I want to report a crime and he is trying to take me off!”

“I wasn’t sir, I swear. I was just trying to calm this man down and get some details.”

“Okay son, lets start from the beginning, what crime do you want to report?”

“Someone is going to kill a person.”

“Who is going to kill who?”

“A man.”  
“A man is going to die or do the killing?”

“Bloody hell, next you’ll be asking him to do charades.” This was said quietly, but Jimmy heard and he threw his hands up and wailed.

“You don’t believe me!”

The senior detective calmly and slowly put an arm around him, and led him firmly but gently through some double doors where there were a row of chairs and the smell of coffee. “Why don’t you start again, a man, is threatening to kill someone, yes?”

“Yes and you have to stop him!”

“Who is he going to kill?”  
“The Duchess.”

“A Duchess? And what’s this Duchesses name?”

Jimmy froze, he couldn’t. This wasn’t how it supposed to go. This was supposed to be the past. He span and paced and sang under his breath trying to calm himself down, aware of the eyes watching him but unable to stop.

“I can’t tell you, but he is going to kill her. Please you have to help!”

“I can’t help unless you give me the name or perhaps an address?”

“Sir, he is clearly off his rockers.”

“Root!” “You’re making fun of me! You don’t believe me!”

Jimmy stormed back through the double doors and saw a figure in a hat waiting out on the steps of the station and stormed back again.

It all went quiet, “I’m tired” he announced snootily sitting on a chair, “I’m going to sleep.” and with that he lay down on the chairs and within seconds he was out, hands clutching his satchel.

Joe looked at his superior “We always get the crazies.”

“Let him sleep, looks like he needs it. Hopefully when he wakes up we can get some sense out of him.”

 

***

 

Jimmy woke up, his head pounding, his mouth dry. The room he is in is warm, and quiet. He can hear the signs of some life behind the doors he can see but there is nobody in the waiting area. Its dark but for a lone desk lamp casting its yellow light as far as it can.  
He gets up tentatively, he must get home, go to bed and go and see the Duchess in the morning to warn her. He is so tired of running. 

He creeps through the double doors back into the foyer and sees that its empty, he takes a few seconds to look at the door and can’t see anyone standing outside it. Squaring his shoulders he walks out into the night.

The temperature has dropped since his brief sleep, he has also sobered slightly and Jimmy shivers. He remembers that he has no shirt on and wraps his coat tighter, his walk brisker. He hears footsteps behind him too late and he turns to take a quick look and thats when it happened, he is struck.

The blows keep coming, everything hurts, every muscle feels as if its on fire, he tries to yell out but nothing happens. And then there is nothing.

 

***

 

Alastair was taking his coat off when Joe whistled past him mid morning. “Get any sleep Joe?” 

“Yeah loads.” as he turned to face Alastair, his blue eyes bloodshot and sore. Alastair knew how he felt.

They were both part way through scribbling their reports from the night before for the typing pool when Detective Collingwood walked in. “Ay lads, nice to see you busy for a change.” He grinned mostly to himself and perched on Joe’s desk. “How comes the boss sent you both home?” 

Alastair went back to his report, trying to re-read his chicken scratch. “Joe and I pulled a double, the Chief was doing his job Colly, but then you already knew that.” Joe was quiet, in fact Joe had been quiet for sometime Ali realised, when he looked over he half expected the other detective to be asleep. Joe was listening into something on the radio, a crackle and hiss could just be heard, a worried frown creasing the otherwise unblemished forehead. 

“What you got Joe?”

Joe looked up and scratched the back of his neck “-radioed in to say a woman has been found dead in her apartment, she has been identified as Claudine Beaulieu, a semi-retired Madame. Also know as The Duchess.”

Something itchy and warm is worming away in Ali’s brain, why did he know that? “Oh the drunk guy last night, someone was going to kill a Duchess.” Ali looks at Joe for confirmation who nods a bit dumbly. “Guess he wasn’t a crazy after all. Did you get his name, he’s probably sobered up by now?”

Joe winces, “I didn’t get anything except a lot of attitude.” 

Alastair just grins, “come on soft lad, lets get lunch. We can discuss it over a beer and maybe we can come up with a plan to find this guy before we see the Chief.”

***

An old man called the police that morning, he’d been out to collect his paper and bread when he saw the body. Assuming it was a dead body he hadn’t panicked, just called the local Post de Police and carried on with his morning routine. They were quick he thought, when they knocked on the door to ask him where the body lay, he took them over to the collection of metal bins. 

He offered the officers a cup of coffee, he’d just put the pot on the stove when without warning there was an sudden exclamation from one of them and a rushed request to use the phone in his building. 

The first officer asked him to come over and take a quick look at the body, who by some miracle was still alive. Poor lad looked like it might be kinder to let him die, he was skin and bone, swollen and bruised, half dressed, the skin that wasn’t red and purple was taking on a grey bluish tinge. 

He confirmed he’d never seen the young man before, he’d left his glasses upstairs but he certainly didn’t have any men in his acquaintance that would walk about half naked late at night. 

He heard the ambulance arrive rather than stay out there and wait with the officer, it wasn’t any of his business after all but, by this time, all the neighbours were leaning out of their windows or standing on their balconies, the morning sun giving out a harsh light. 

***

Alastair just kept staring at the figure in the bed, prostrate and lifeless. The smell of the boarding house (read: brothel) wouldn’t clear despite the open window, he breathed through his mouth and held a handkerchief to his face all the while trying to be discreet, there really was no dignity in death he thought.  
Joe on the other hand had no such hang ups, loudly proclaiming that it smelt like a toilette and holding his nose. 

The chief was already there when they arrived, because of course he was. He didn’t seem overly phased, it was all pretty straight forward. Someone, they assumed male, had maybe forced his way in to the madame’s living quarters, bashed her about a bit then strangled her to death, judging by the marks on her throat. The autopsy would confirm their theory. 

The assailant was obviously looking for something, belongings were scattered haphazardly, but in a way that suggested a struggle and purpose rather than just a slovenly woman. 

They did all they could and left the doctor and a couple of uniforms waiting with the body for the ambulance and made their way back to the station. 

Alastair had only just gotten back to his desk when Jos appeared next to him, “I think you and Joe might be interested in this” he called Joe over rather shyly before carrying on. “a call came through to switchboard, uniform were going to attend but it sounded like something you would want to chase up, a man was taken to the Necker Hospital, barely alive.” 

Ever impatient Joe said “And!?”

“And-” said Jos grinning, “He was tall, slim, wearing jeans, loafers and huge dark coat. Has dark hair like Jiames Dean and for the very few moments he regained consciousness he muttered something about a duchess.”

Joe yelped and jumped at the same time, then in a move that shocked Jos more than Alastair, landed a sloppy kiss on Jos’s cheek. “I owe you a drink! Come on Ali we’ve got a stroppy unconscious prima donna to speak to.”

Alastair grinned at the flustered uniform, “go and get a breath of fresh air before you catch fire” Jos thanked him before turning an even brighter shade of pink and wandering off a bit dazed. 

Joe chattered non stop all the way to the hospital. “Hair like James Dean, please he was a mess when I saw him. Bet some besotted nurse called it in. Jos is nice, he transferred from the Latin Quarter, I thought he’d be a detective by now but he says he likes uniform. I miss uniform a little, but I prefer wearing a suit. Did you hear the Chief arguing with the Judiciaire? You ask me there are too many cooks at the top.” he pauses for breath chuckles at ‘cooks’ and then sallies forth again. “I think we have a leak in the station, details appear in the papers that we’d never give the press. Colly is totally hooking up with someone in the station and I am going to find out who.”

Joe just kept going, he didn’t really need you to actually respond, he just jumped from subject to subject with little or any connection, it was great, white noise to fill the air. Alastair all the while was playing over the evening before, the precious half an hour he’d spent with Jimmy drinking cheap wine and sharing a plate of food, he’d meant to call Jimmy today but hadn’t gotten around to it, too busy to sneak out and use the payphone. 

***

A nurse greeted them and pointed them both in the direction of the ward, the hospital was cold, white walls, linoleum floors squeaking under their feet, it smelt of Lysol and carbolic soap, it was the sort of place that you’d get better just so you could leave. They found the ward sister, a terrifyingly competent individual who Alastair fell in love with immediately, who placed a call for the doctor.

Alastair and Joe waited patiently on plastic chairs, Joe quiet seemingly too frightened of the sister to make any noise, leg bouncing next to Alastair’s. A fair headed man in a white coat with the collar turned up appeared, smile plastered on his face, “Detective Cook and Detective Root?” they stood and nodded, “hello, I’m Doctor Swann, the nurses call me Doctor Love.” it was said with a straight face and Alastair didn’t know whether to laugh or arrest him.

“I doubt that.”

The doctor pretended to look wounded for a moment and then grinned at them both again, “You’re here for our sleeping beauty I guess?” at which he span on the balls of his feet, white coat twirling and marched off purposely towards a door, leaving Joe and Alastair to follow quickly after him. 

***

Alastair just stood, pained, wounded and unable to say anything. Jimmy, it was Jimmy laying in the bed. He looked quite small with the white of the hospital sheets and blankets folded and tucked carefully round him. He was attached to a drip, and there was a huge machine with buttons and tubes whirring away next to him, a horrible black mask over his nose and mouth, slightly reminiscent of a gas mask. Alastair wanted to run over and rip the bloody thing off Jimmy’s face. He became aware of silence and refocused on the room, Joe and the doctor both looking at him, confused. “You alright Cookie?” 

“Yeah, yes, i’m fine. Sorry, not much sleep. Where were you?”

Joe and the doctor carried on and this time Alastair concentrated on Joe rather than Jimmy two foot from him. 

Dr Swann spoke matter of factly, “-He was brought in early this morning by your lot, although I called it in to switchboard once I knew he was going to be okay. We had to warm him up first, must have been laying in the street all night.”

Joe asked Dr Swann “have you examined the patient completely?” 

Dr Swann raised an eyebrow “If thats a roundabout way of asking if the patient was sexually assaulted I can confirm that he wasn’t, but he was beaten badly.” 

Alastair let go of a breath he’d had no idea he was holding. Dr Swann carried on, “-he has broken ribs, severely bruised kidneys, and various other parts of him are fractured or broken. He is unresponsive currently due to me pumping him full of Morphine.” 

Alastair stared at Jimmy in the bed again and held in the urge to wail. 

“We’ve set and plastered the bones where we can, other than that he is just going to have to stay where he is for the time being.” Dr Swann picked up the medical chart at the end of the bed, glanced at it and put it down again. “The ward sister wants to get him eating as soon as possible, can’t say I blame her, I’ve seen more meat on a dirty fork.” 

Luckily for Alastair Joe seemed to be taking the lead, “Don’t suppose his identity card was anywhere on him?” Joe looked hopefully at the doctor.

“No, I’m afraid not gentlemen. Sleeping beauty will have to be nameless until I give him the kiss of life.”

“Jimmy.” Alastair heard his voice as if it were far away. “His name is Jimmy.”

Joe stared at him, eyes wide, face agog. “You know him?!”

“Yes, he's a dancer at a club in Montmatre. He is on some of the postcards, I think the club is called The Rosebowl.”

Joe was still staring at him, the doctor clearly unfazed looked down at his patient again and exclaimed, “Oh yes I can see it now. Well, that explains the make up remnants.” He looked at the pair of them and Alastair did his best to look nonchalant, “If that will be all? He isn’t going to wake up anytime soon, maybe tomorrow?”

Joe thanked Dr Swann and Alastair shook his hand, “Thanks Doc, we’ll call again tomorrow morning.”

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I'm hoping this will be about 3 parts.  
> Bit nervous about posting as I have never written in this fandom ever... and there are so many good writers.  
> Cheers for clicking, apologies if its not your thing, but you did click!
> 
> In terms of other relationships, they'll get a mention or a hint but I have to admit I probably won't dive to deep unless I get inspiration.


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